“Quack!” quipped the duck, homing in on his friend’s literal-not-metaphorical swan song.

“Thwack!” swung the swan, handing holming to his friend’s belated-not-hated duck dive. ; )

Spring’s leaves turn glow into grow, whereas winter’s luminaria burn nope into hope . ; )

You are thinking of the boistous blood-falo—the hybrid of hound and bison that sniffs out holiday cheer in order to steer in fear. What you are acquainting with now is a rein-triever—an amiable amalgamation of caribou and golden that presents holiday kisses in order to Yuletide spirits embolden. ; )

Winter’s icon enters our hearths via lateritous lanes whereas season’s spirit frosts forgiveness upon hearts—salving pained veins. ; )

That afternoon, she went for a walk with empty pockets save for her keys and she discovered, off her usual route, a windowless window exchanging breeze for sees. It was here that a moment occurred, even in her singularity, where she felt comfortably seen; in the absence of accustomed uberveillance, she delighted being tagged by heaven’s gleen. ; )